The Fire Lord and the Teapot
by Skiefyer
Summary: When Iroh's birthright is revoked in favour of Ozai he challenges him to an Agni Kai, but for some reason he throws it. What, or who, caused it? This one-shot eplores how Iroh and Zuko became like father and son.


A/N: This was written as a prize for 'Sonya' who managed to guess the somewhat obscure reference I placed in my story 'Amnesia'. She wanted to know who would win an Agni Kai between Ozai and Iroh, if Iroh contested Ozai's denial of his birthright. I'm afraid that the story very much ran away with me, so I hope it's still to your liking. It starts when Iroh is at the camp waiting to retake Ba Sing Se from the fire nation – so just before Zuko and the others join them.

...

"Iroh?" A man looked up from his meal and smiled slightly in open invitation. The three men sat down beside him and began to eat their own meals in relative silence. One refrained from eating; a question dancing on his lips.

"Iroh," he began, "you told us about how Prince Zuko betrayed you in the caves of Ba Sing Se, but we still have questions about certain things."

"You may voice them," Iroh said placidly.

"Why do you still wait for him?"

"He is my nephew," Iroh replied and then, softly, "...my _son_."

"But he betrayed you!" Another argued.

"He has a good heart," Iroh lifted a spoonful to his mouth and swallowed, "He has had a hard path to walk, my friends, and I am afraid that it has scarred him far more than any physical wound."

"Yet still you wait?"

"He will come," Iroh said, determination shining through those deceptively old eyes, "I know it."

"How?"

...

It was dark, dismal, a huge expanse of cloud stretched on for miles, concealing the moon, as a foreboding chill edged its way into the minds of all awake to stare down the inky blackness. The trees were eerily still, not a branch rustled, not a leaf twitched to drift slowly to the ground. The palace was quiet with the haunting silence of a graveyard. But through the stillness one could just make out an infinitesimal, intermittent, 'tap, tap'. It was the muffled sound of a man, unperturbed by unnatural silences, determined to carry out a mission of utmost importance. The man's soft white slippers shuffled along the ground, as he drifted down the hallway, robes trailing behind him, a tiny speck of light resting in his palm. For all its miniscule size, the flame burned strongly, wavering not an iota, throwing the hallway before it into sharp relief. The soft tapping ceased as a slight creaking cut through the silence, as a knife through butter. The tapping resumed as the hallway fell dark again. A contented sigh snuck under the door and whistled through the hallway, before the creaking and the tapping resumed in tandem. The quiet clink of china harmonised with the tapping as the man headed back down the hallway.

The unobtrusive symphony was disrupted by the slam of a door, and the heavy breathing intermingled with sobs that accompanied it.

"General Iroh?" the woman gasped as she drew closer.

"Ursa?" he held out his hands to steady her, setting his cup on the floor, "what is wrong?"

She breathed heavily, and turned her head rapidly, as if checking to see if she was being followed, "...Z...Zuko," she said finally.

"Is he hurt?" Iroh demanded gently.

"No," she shook her head, hair wild and tangled around her shoulders, "no, but you have to promise me."

"Promise you what?" Iroh asked, dread beginning to pool in his stomach.

"Promise me," she said, voice unwavering, "promise me you'll watch over him, no matter what."

"Ursa," Iroh said gently, "whatever is the matter?"

"Just promise me," she said, a hint of desperation colouring her tone, "please, Iroh."

"Alright," he watched her with his deceptively half-lidded eyes, "I will watch over your son."

"Thank you," she looked on the verge of collapse, her usually immaculate appearance was ruffled and her eyes were darkened from lack of sleep.

And then suddenly he knew. From the moment he had laid eyes on Ursa that night, Iroh had puzzled over the strange look in her eyes. It was wild and haunted, a far cry from the deep serenity she had always radiated. His mind had rearranged all the pieces he'd picked up throughout the last week, over and over again, until finally it had clicked.

"No," he whispered, "he couldn't have...?"

Ursa looked shocked, "I should have known," her voice was trembling now, "I should have known you'd figure it out." She backed away, and Iroh's heart ached for the strong woman his brother had broken.

"Watch over him," she fled, and behind him Iroh heard a sharp alarm sound, and the thump of the palace guard sweeping from room to room. As they approached him he turned around and lowered his eyelids slightly, "what's going on?" he asked innocently, "I was just retiring after having my midnight tea," he smiled disarmingly and gestured to the teacup sitting near his feet, "it was lovely."

"The fire lord is dead," the guard informed him, "murdered."

Iroh affected a look of shock and betrayal, "what?" he made as if to lean against the wall, "by who?" He hoped fervently that for once he was wrong. But it couldn't be so, all the pieces fit too perfectly together.

"Ursa," the guard motioned to the others to continue searching, "your brother's wife."

"Are you sure?" Iroh was quite certain she hadn't planned it on her own, his brother was involved somehow.

"No question about it," the guard replied, " Fire lord Ozai saw it himself, he found her there."

It was just as he'd thought, but wait. "Did you say, 'Fire lord'?" he asked.

"When Ozai found the Fire lord he was just barely alive, three guards witnessed him announce Ozai as his heir."

"I have no doubt," Iroh muttered, so that was his plan then. Well, he wouldn't stand for it. With Ozai on the throne, who knew what trouble would arise. His vision for the world was a twisted and mutilated version of Sozan's. Sozan had dreamed of a united world under the banner of the fire nation. He had truly believed that the fire nation should share its prosperity with the other nations, and although his methods were questionable, the intent was pure. Their father had believed in the same vision. Ozai, however, dreamt of a world enslaved to the fire nation. A world brought down to its knees by ravaging wars and cruel tyranny. If he took the throne, well, it didn't bear thinking about. There was nothing else to be done then; he would challenge his brother to an Agni Kai, and he would have to win.

If only life were as simple as making a statement about it.

...

Dawn came to the fire nation and brought with it s strange meld of anxious anticipation tinged with sadness. Word of the Fire Lord's death had reached many by Hawk-owl and the air was electric with emotion. Though none truly grieved his passing, all knew it brought about change as certain as the seasons. Whether that change was good or bad was anyone's guess. As it was, tradition stated that the new Fire Lord be crowned by sunset – the change was imminent.

As the sun passed from its shadow and illuminated the world, a procession took place in the palace. Over five-hundred people gathered in the streets, sombre as they followed, eager to watch the coronation take place. The guards were stone-faced and silent, their traditional red attire discarded for the more solemn black in the wake of the great tragedy. The royal family was hidden behind a curtain of veils as they were carried on two palanquins. As was tradition, the children of the deceased lord – Iroh and Ozai – rode on one together, and their families and children the other. The procession reached their destination and the guards gently set both down on the ground.

Ozai emerged from one, dressed also in black and a deep, dark, red, with Iroh following behind him sedately – a determined gleam in his eye. The children emerged from the other, Azula leading the way, a small smirk on her features, with Zuko only slightly behind her – a worried look in his eyes. All four headed up the stairs to where the coronation would take place. The elder two headed to the middle of a diamond shaped glass floor, standing in the middle of the flames etched upon it. The younger took their places along the side of the diamond, hands folded neatly behind their backs, faces perfectly blank.

The steward waited until the crowd had settled before approaching the middle of the floor, the crown headpiece in his hands. He stopped in front of the two brothers.

"Today marks the crowning of a new Fire Lord," he announced, "it was the Fire Lord's dying wish that his eldest son – Iroh 's – birthright be revoked, and that Ozai should become Fire Lord in his place. Does anyone have the right to challenge this?"

"Yes, I believe I do," Iroh said quietly, eyes steely and uncompromising.

"Iroh," the steward faced him, "your birthright has been revoked, you are no longer the heir – you cannot dispute this."

"It has always been our tradition," Iroh's voice, though soft, carried easily, "that the strongest should lead this proud nation. As such, the strongest has always been the eldest. It seems my father believes this not to be true, however in keeping with our beloved and sacred traditions, I have the right to challenge my brother to an Agni Kai if I think my father was mistaken in the judgement of his worth. I believe this to be so."

"Very well," the steward turned to Ozai, "do you accept?"

Ozai hesitated.

"If you do not," the steward reminded him, "you will be declared the weakest by default, and Iroh will regain his birthright."

"I accept," Ozai snarled, furious.

"Let us move to the arena, then," the steward led them down the steps to the giant arena that served for formal Agni Kai challenges. Once they reached the arena, the two disrobed and were directed to opposite ends and the Steward prepared to preside.

"This is not a fight to the death," he reminded them, "Agni Kai's concerning accession matters are forbidden from ending in the death of either party," he stepped back and raised a flag, "when this flag drops, you may begin."

Iroh prepared himself, breathing deeply and widening his stance. He had to win this. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the flag drop and tensed, waiting for Ozai to make the first move. He didn't disappoint. A bolt of lightning streaked past him and Iroh chuckled to himself, he definitely had Ozai worried. Ozai leapt forward and punched the air, a blast of fire swirling from his fist and growing in the air. Iroh palmed it calmly, absorbing the energy and fired it back, twisting it into a jagged plume that caught Ozai on the sleeve.

Ozai retaliated with another bolt of lightning that missed Iroh by a hair. As it was, he felt the hairs on his arms stand on end and he mentally berated himself – Ozai was not to be underestimated. Iroh spun around and slammed his foot into the ground, flames shooting from his toes and streaming along the floor. Ozai jumped them and punched the air again, a much larger burst of flames filling Iroh's vision. He windmilled his hands, gathering the fire, and flinched as it singed his hands. Ignoring the pain, he sent the blast back to Ozai, and then promptly ducked as his opponent whipped it back at him.

His breathing felt heavy and he knew he was perhaps a little out of shape. He needed to end this. Ozai, apparently, was thinking along similar lines, and while Iroh was momentarily distracted with dodging his fire whip, he sent another bolt of lightning straight for his chest. The bolt slammed into Iroh and, for one moment, Ozai thought he'd killed his brother. But suddenly the smoke was clearing and although Iroh was convulsing with electric energy, he didn't seem to be harmed. Instead, he was moving his arms in a strange pattern, and the lightning was coursing through his body. Suddenly, the bolt seemed to be caressing Iroh's fingers and Ozai watched in awed horror as he pointed straight at him. Iroh met Ozai's eyes and looked away, he couldn't do this. He released the lightning into the sky.

"You fool," Ozai laughed, "you're weak." He slammed a fire blast into Iroh's unprotected chest and, unprepared, Iroh felt it singe his shirt before he dodged away. He retaliated and sent a burst of fire back, using the cover to get close to Ozai. He engulfed his fist in flames and grabbed Ozai's shirt, hand inches from his neck.

"You lose." Iroh's voice was pure steel.

Ozai just cackled madly, "no, you lost before we even started."

"Give up," he hissed, "or the boy dies."

Iroh had no doubts as to who Ozai was referring to, and his heart sunk with the utter truth of the first statement. You couldn't fight madness, not on your own terms.

"You would kill your own son?" Iroh asked, appalled and yet somehow, he wasn't entirely shocked.

"Son?" Ozai snarled, "He doesn't deserve that title."

"Regardless," Iroh bluffed, "he is not _my_ son."

"I know you care for him," Ozai chuckled harshly, "I know you promised my traitorous wife you'd 'watch over him'."

"What did you do to her?" Iroh demanded.

"That isn't your concern," Ozai growled, "now unless you want that brat to end up like your precious Lu Ten, give up."

"...very well," Iroh released Ozai, the fire extinguishing, and allowed Ozai to pin him to the ground.

"You 're pathetic." He rose and, kicking dirt into Iroh's face, he walked over to the steward and bowed down. The steward placed the signifying hairpiece in Ozai's hair and gestured for him to rise to his feet.

"All hail Fire Lord Ozai," the steward announced, "may his flames burn brightly and light our path into the future."

Iroh turned his face and saw Zuko and Azula, standing mute by the edge of the arena. Azula had a mad fire in her eyes and a smirk on her face, Zuko was blank but Iroh could see the tight curl of his fists against his shirt. He wondered if they knew yet.

"For my first speech as Fire Lord," Ozai began, "I regret to inform you all that my dear wife, Ursa, passed away last night, the same way as my predecessor, and father."

Iroh saw Zuko's eyes widen in shock, and his bottom lip tremble. He hadn't known, then. How could Ozai break the news to them like this? His heart ached for the little prince, trying so desperately to cover his emotions under the staggering weight of such devastating news. Azula seemed unsurprised and uncaring, her face upturned in her royal bearing, not a trace of sadness on her features.

"But let us not dwell on the past, we must look to our future and I promise you that I _will_ lead you towards it, unwaveringly, unfalteringly. I will fulfil my forefather's vision, but not only that, I will _surpass_ it. This, today, will be a glorious day in the Fire Nation's history, to be remembered not as a day of tragedy, but as a day of new hope in this long war." He bowed his head, shot Iroh a scornful glance, and swept out of the arena. Iroh groaned and got to his feet, accepting his robes from a nearby guard and scanned the area for Zuko. The prince hadn't yet moved from his position at the edge of the arena. As Iroh watched, Azula poked him in the arm and whispered something in his ear. Zuko reddened and, without warning, launched himself at her, tackling her to the ground. A second later he was hauled off her by a guard, amidst Azula's maniacal laughter.

"I'll handle this," Iroh intercepted the guard and took Zuko by the shoulder, leading him away from the arena and into a small garden that bordered it. He could feel Zuko trembling underneath his touch, could hear the slight hitch in his breathing that denoted one who was close to tears.

"Oh Zuko," Iroh hugged him close, and felt the little prince bury himself in his arms. The small body convulsed slightly, and Iroh knew he'd given up on holding back the tears. He stroked his hair gently, and hummed his favourite song softly.

"Why?"

Iroh looked down at the anguished face staring up at him, "It is because," he said hesitantly, "the balance of the world-"

"No," Zuko interrupted him, "why her?" he sobbed, "Why couldn't it have been _him_?"

"I do not know," Iroh said softly.

"Azula's glad," Zuko sniffed, "she said...she said mum had it coming."

"Azula says many things," Iroh replied lightly, "each one more foolish than the last."

The corner of Zuko's mouth lifted infinitesimally, and then his entire face darkened.

"Father loves Azula," he said softly, "he _hates_ me."

"I do not believe that to be so," Iroh lied, "you are his son, after all."

_Son? He does not deserve that title._

He winced, "and anyway," he smiled at Zuko and stroked his hair again; "_I_ love you."

"You do?" Zuko asked hopefully, eyes alight.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Iroh whispered, "You're _my_ favourite nephew."

"I'm your _only_ nephew," Zuko reminded him.

"Zuko," Iroh knelt down and looked him in the eye, "to me, you are like a son." His heart ached at the word, Lu Ten's face flashed across his mind.

"But Lu Ten?" Zuko asked, astute as always.

"Lu Ten was my son," Iroh acknowledged, "and I will _always_ love him. But," he gestured to his stomach, "I am a big man, there is plenty to go around."

Zuko laughed and then sobered, looking away as if ashamed to have done so.

"It is okay to laugh," Iroh told him, "it is okay to be happy."

"But she's _dead_," Zuko cried, "how can I be happy when she's gone?"

"It takes time," Iroh said, "you will heal, and you will move on,"

"But how can-" Zuko started, but Iroh held up a finger.

"But you will _never_ forget." He smiled at the young prince, "she lives on in your memory and in your actions."

"In my actions?"

"Indeed, you have her gentle spirit," he tickled Zuko under the chin, "and her kind heart."

He frowned, "Azula says I'm weak."

"You are not," Iroh fixed him with a stern gaze, "you have more strength and determination in your pinky finger," Iroh grabbed the prince's finger and shook it playfully, "than she does in her entire body," he told him.

"But she's better at _everything_." Zuko buried his hand in his robes.

"Perhaps," Iroh agreed, "but talent has only set her up for failure. You have worked for everything you have ever had, and it has made you strong – far stronger than she will ever be."

Zuko was silent for a minute, "why did you lose to Father?"

Iroh sighed, "Sometimes, strength and sheer determination are not enough to win one battle," he smiled, "but it will _always_ win the war."

"Really?"

"Really." Iroh got to his feet and hugged Zuko around the shoulders, "now let's go hunt down some tea, I think I feel like Jasmine, today..."

...

"Zuko has always had a kind and fair heart," Iroh continued, moving on with his tale, "and so, one day his father beat it out of him. He was only thirteen or fourteen at the time," Iroh looked away, sadness in his eyes, "he asked me if I'd let him attend a war meeting with me, he was forever trying to impress his father, always going that extra mile. I let him come and I warned him to be quiet no matter what, but he couldn't. "

The general outlined a plan that involved sacrificing a battalion of young soldiers – fresh meat, he called them – Zuko was outraged and spoke against him. His father was furious and, unbeknownst to Zuko; he challenged him to an Agni Kai – a fire nation duel. Zuko thought he would be fighting the general and agreed. When he found out it was his father he refused to fight, he begged to be forgiven. Ozai burnt his face in punishment and banished him. From that moment on, Zuko has struggled with right and wrong to the point where it is sometimes unclear to him. He is still good at heart, though," Iroh finished, "just lost."

There was silence for awhile after Iroh finished telling the tale.

"I see," the man said quietly, "I had no idea he'd been through so much."

"Very few do," Iroh replied, "he has told no-one." He finished his meal and set his bowl down, "if you will excuse me, I think I will retire for the night." He got up and slowly walked over to his tent. As he entered, a single tear gathered in the corner of his eye and trailed slowly down his face.

_I pray for you, my nephew – my son – that you will find your way amongst the labyrinth of anger and rage that overwhelms you, that you will find your way to me, and that you will finally come home._

...

A/N: Wow...yeah that definitely ran away from me, but I hope it was a little bit what you wanted!


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